The Iron Writer Challenge #206 – 2017 Autumn Equinox Challenge #1

The Iron Writer Challenge #206

2017 Autumn Equinox Challenge #1

500 Words, 5 Days, 4 Elements

The Authors:

Sarah Catherine, Geoff Gore

The Elements:

Sunrise

A colicky baby

Marriage blinders

POV of one of your parents

“Déjà vu”

Sarah Catherine

The baby was crying.

Jan rolled over in bed. Her husband snored peacefully next to her, oblivious to the infant’s mewling from the next room. She kept her eyes closed, willing him to wake up. Please, Dave. Just once. Please hear her. But his breathing remained steady. Jan sighed, and pushed herself up.

Three months, she should be used to this. But the midnight wakings got harder every day. Exhaustion sat like a rock in her belly, the weight like a prosthetic pregnancy. It tugged at her back, pressed down on her feet, pulled her into the ground. It crushed her, slowly.

“Shh.” The tiny face wrinkled, and it wailed even louder than before. “Shhhhh, Mommy’s here.” She fumbled at her maternity gown, trying to free a breast, wanting desperately to cease the piercing sound. Smother it. Make it stop. Please stop.

“Shh.” The baby latched and Jan sank into the rocking chair. So tired. She just wanted to sleep, uninterrupted, for more than two hours. Such a simple thing. It will never happen. I’ll die like this, so tired I feel sick. Sick and tired.

Jan’s skin crawled as the nursing child pawed and clawed at her breasts, tugged her hair, pushed with tiny legs into the soft flesh of her stomach. The latch broke. More wailing scraped at raw nerves. She hated it. She hated the sound of her baby’s voice. It tortured her. How can he sleep through this? How can he leave me alone to deal with this?

Tears welled in Jan’s eyes. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to feel this way about her own child. She looked down at the writhing thing at her breast. Never happy. Never satisfied. I’m never enough.

The screaming reached a fever pitch. Jan drew the baby nearer; she longed for the sleepy cuddles advertised in maternity manuals. The baby kicked, pushing away with her feet and biting desperately. Tiny hands slapped at her; fingernails left red, ragged trails across her breasts.

“Shut up,” she said. “Please, just shut up.” Jan’s breast swelled as she pulled the baby closer. She watched the pale flesh spread out, covering the tiny mouth, tiny nostrils. She held the baby there a moment, waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

The kicking became less desperate. The pawing weakened. Still Jan held the girl tight against her breast. For a moment the pain and the anger faded. Then, in a sudden wave, nausea took over. Jan’s heart throbbed, she choked on her breath. Her hands relaxed, and the babe kicked once more.

When she was finished, Jan stared at the baby, hoping to feel some love for her, some sense of maternal protectiveness. But she watched her sleeping face and all she could think was, How long will I get this time?

One hour later, Jan stirred. Weak sunlight streamed in the bedroom window. Her husband snored next to her, oblivious to the sounds coming from the next room. Frustration coursed through Jan’s body. Anger. It made her feel heavy. Sick. No. Please. Not again. Please.

But, the baby was crying.

Mother’s Advice

Geoff Gore

“Is there coffee?” Sandy stumbled into the kitchen bleary eyed.

“You’re up late dear. Sunrise was an hour ago.”

“Mom, why do you even insist on talking to me at this hour?”

“It’s the best part of the day. Anyway, I thought you’d be up earlier, especially for someone with parental responsibilities… and you look awful if you don’t mind me saying.”